


open wounds

by Lunarflare14



Category: Grand Theft Auto V
Genre: Betrayal, M/M, Regret, Tattoos
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-02-14
Updated: 2014-02-14
Packaged: 2018-01-12 10:02:15
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 915
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1184918
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lunarflare14/pseuds/Lunarflare14
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Nine years of baggage is a lot to overcome. But sometimes, digging in to old wounds gives them a chance to heal right.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

Michael caught a glimpse of it that first day Trevor was back.

It was a tattoo he didn’t remember T having back then, but he could only see the under T’s Dusche t-shirt sleeve. If he was guessing by the shape of it, he’d say it was a cross. Which yeah, he thought that was weird but hey, Trevor was bat shit crazy. Nothing was too weird, the “cut here” tattoo was new too, so really anything was possible.

But then he swung by the condo Trevor had pretty much hijacked from that hillbilly’s cousin. He’d gotten a vague message about needing flying lessons and seriously, what the hell Trevor. The place smelled like a cesspool and looked like a band of rabid raccoons. It might have been a nice place at some point but Trevor had this way of breeding chaos into his surroundings. It also smelled like a literal shit storm had come through.

His friend was drinking a bear on the couch in a wife beater and jeans, taking long swigs and ignoring his friend’s initial presence.

"Hey Trevor, wanted to talk to you about—" But as he came around the side of the couch the words died on his lips because his name was stamped on Trevor’s bicep.

Which was… what?

When Trevor finally looked to see what had shut Michael up, his eyes follow Michael’s to his arm. “Oh, the tat, yeah, was a really bad trip. Woke up with it. Too much of a pain in the ass to get it removed now. A lot like someone else I know.”

"Fuck you." But Michael was still stuck on the letters of his name that Trevor had carved permanently into his skin.

Fuck, Michael felt like an asshole. Trevor’s still vague about the flying lessons and Michael doesn’t even give a shit. All he wanted was out of that filthy apartment and to never feel this shitty about himself ever again. He wasn’t sure what he expected when he told Trevor to run but nothing like that— not for Trevor to mourn him, to miss him the way Mike sometimes missed Trevor.

Fuck.

He was such a coward. Everything was so fucked up. He left the only person who ever accepted him as he was, liked him as he was, for a family that didn’t give a shit about him. Back then it had seemed like the right thing to do. For ten years he gained weight and sat around in his own self-pity because the world could go the fuck on with Michael Townley and not once had he dreamed that maybe Trevor wouldn’t.

And he couldn’t even apologize because Trevor would want to know why and honestly, Michael wasn’t even sure anymore.

You knew it was bad when Trevor Philips deserved better.


	2. Chapter 2

Trevor brushed it off because Michael would be the world’s biggest dick about it.

He was sober when he got the tattoo, sober and in one of the worst lows since the initial breakdown after losing M. There was nothing but rage and carnage at first. But after weeks of it, he finally just… bottomed out.

He was down in the hole and it usually entailed him blubbering like a baby. Instead, he’s just sitting on a couch in a shitty hell hole of a town wasting away to nothing because he just doesn’t want to go on anymore. It’s not like him. He should be barn burning and hell-raising but he couldn’t bring himself to move, let alone get angry. He had run out of anger. It’s never happened to him before. 

Trevor realized this was what they call mourning and he hated it.

There was a hole in him where Mike use to be. A stable presence in his off kilter world. M had always set him right, always knew what to say to reel his anger back in.

Trevor didn’t know what to do anymore, so he did nothing, didn’t even notice the meth withdrawal. He wasn’t sure how long he had been sitting on the couch. It could have been days. He got up sometimes, for water and to piss but he was never hungry anymore.

Fuck food. What he wanted was M to waltz through the door. Wanted him to regale him with some stupid deal he made or some angle he pulled. All he had in the world was MT. He’d give anything to have him back now. 

Anything.

That’s when he did get up. Michael was fading from the world, fading from his memory. He didn’t want to forget. Not now, not ever. The pain was all he had. He went down to the tattoo parlor, demanded they ink it into his arm, and threatened them with violence. Didn’t matter what they put, as long as it had his name.

Michael.

Brother.

There was something cathartic in the way the needle stabbed it into his skin, bled it out of him. The artist handed him ointment and lotion. “Remember, treat like any other injury or it’ll get infected.”

“Thanks there partner. I’m glad I didn’t have to disembowel ya.”

“I-I get it man. Guy must’ve meant a lot to you.” It was an obvious try for small talk that Trevor waved off.

“Would I get his name etched into me if he didn’t? Later fuckfaces.”

So nine years later, when Michael left his apartment, he might have put on an actual shirt. It turned his stomach looking at it.


End file.
